


Kith and Kin: Meh Boli Behen

by NorthernStar



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Bond of Protection, Gen, Indian Summer, Memories, Rakhi Bandhan, Young Blair Sandburg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-25
Updated: 2012-11-25
Packaged: 2017-11-19 12:39:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/573349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NorthernStar/pseuds/NorthernStar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blair's hunt for a lost bracelet reawakens his memories of the summer he and Naomi spent in India and the moment he met his Rahki sister....</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kith and Kin: Meh Boli Behen

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this around 2004. For the most part the story was dragged out kicking and screaming, which was horrible as I’m used to fics writing themselves for me. Maybe because I’m not a great fan of (nor any believer in) the whole ‘Naomi the nomad’ idea and this, if not actually follows that fanon cliché then skirts around it after a fashion.

“Chief, it’s just a bracelet.”

Blair shook his head. “It’s not just a bracelet, Jim. Now would you please…?” Hands came up to the side of his head. “…concentrate.”

Sighing, the Sentinel scanned the area, eyes sweeping the gloom. The shadows faded, backlit, his own night-vision better than anything the Army had ever had him using. The warehouse was strewn with dirt, but nothing shone or glittered. Blair had said there was silver on it; it should glow like a beacon in this murky light. A rat caught his eye and before he could stop his sight, he’d zeroed in a flea crawling through its matted grey fur. Jim shuddered, pulling his vision back to normal and the creature disappeared into the darkness. “I’m sorry. I can’t see it.”

“Ok…” Blair paced a moment, and then turned back to him. “OK, let’s try something else. Close your eyes.”

He did so - and heard that rat scurrying through the filth even more clearly. “Thought you wanted me to find your bracelet, Sandburg.”

“I do.” Blair came closer. “But if you can’t see it, then maybe you can smell it.”

Eyes opened. “I don’t know what a bracelet smells like.”

“You know what I smell like, right?”

Jim couldn’t resist. “Unfortunately.” He said dryly, and then saw the scowl. “You walked right into that one, Chief.”

“I put it on this morning. Since then we’ve run all over this city, man. I’ve been sweating-”

“You don’t need to tell me.”

“Jim…”

He waited, eye to forehead. He was enjoying winding Blair up, guessing that the beloved bit of jewellery was a gift from Sam and that she would be eating him for breakfast in the very near future for losing it.

But Blair let the comment pass. “It’s probably got my scent on it.”

Jim looked incredulous. “You want me to _smell_ it out? I thought the caveman thing was insulting, now I’m a bloodhound?”

“Look, Jim, this is important.”

The kid should be used to being in Sam’s doghouse by now. He chose to turn the knife. “If it valuable, we should go down to the station and file a report.” He told him. “For insurance.”

Jim knew damned well Blair didn’t have any insurance, but the student shook his head. “No, it’s not valuable and I’d probably get change from ten bucks to buy a replacement, but it’s…” His shoulder’s sagged. “It means a lot.”

The sudden defeatism and distress in Blair’s eyes bothered him. If he was really worried what Sam would say, why not just buy an identical one?

He struggled to remember what the blessed thing looked like. Blair had said he’d been wearing it all day – he always wore some ethnic doodad or other – so Jim really hadn’t paid it any attention. The only description he had was the one Blair had given him - a length of interwoven peach coloured and gold thread with a silver feather detail.

He’d never had credited Sam with anything worth treasuring, but maybe the kid was in love with her. So Jim tried to be a little more sympathetic. “She’ll never forgive you, huh, Chief?”

“No.” His voice was quiet.

“Far be it from me to stand in the way of your love life, Sandburg.” And he took a deep breath. Nothing. The only thing he could detect that smelt like Blair was Blair himself.

Then he sensed something, tension and grit in the air, and opened his eyes. Blair was staring at him. He didn’t like the sadness there.

“You think it’s from Sam?” He said, not quite accusingly.

“Isn’t it?”

“I’ve had this bracelet since I was sixteen.” He explained, voice a little hollow.

His next words floored Ellison.

“My…my sister gave it to me.”

**\---**

**12th July 1985**

**Western India, 250 miles south of Mumbai (** **Bombay** **)**

The train rocked, clanking over the rails - _clickerty_ _-clack, clickerty-clack_ \- flies buzzed and crawled.

Naomi snoozed. Fitful, cheeks flushed with fever, her hand like a furnace in his and yet she shivered in the sweltering heat. Already sticky from the humidity and the closed train, he moved away from her, not wanting to compound her heat with his own. Naomi’s eyes opened briefly to check he wasn’t straying off and he smiled reassuringly. This wasn’t turning out to be the trip they’d planned, an adventure together before university parted them in more ways than mere distance ever could. He looked away and rubbed his eyes, feeling the beginnings of a dull ache behind his eyes. Damn. This wasn’t what his mother had worked double shifts to pay for.

Blair slipped from his seat and squeezed onto the chair opposite. An elderly woman half smiled at him as he sat down, taking in his sunburnt white skin and mop of curly hair. She smiled toothlessly and made space. At his other side was a skinny girl, younger than he - a child really. She studied him then turned to the man at her side and spoke. Blair recognised ‘boy’ in her rapid native tongue and the ‘American’ in the man’s reply, and shifted with embarrassment in his seat.

“Blair?”

He looked across at his mother and guessed what she wanted. He reached down to the bag, pulled out the water bottle and handed it over. Already half empty, he watched at his mother sipped almost all of what was there down. He returned the bottle to the bag then looked out the window. She followed his eyes, taking in the rich colours blurring and melding with the motion of the train.

“Are we there yet?” He asked her.

Naomi chuckled at the question. “Long way yet, sweetie.” Her eyes flickered closed then opened again slowly, as if she had to force her eyelids up. “I might fall asleep for a while, OK?”

“OK.”

Her eyes closed and she smiled.

“Mom?”

“Mmmm?”

“Are you really sick?”

“Watch out the window for me.” She murmured, avoiding the question. “I want to hear about everything you see.”

\---

“Sister?”

Blair watched his friend flounder, seeing confusion then good old fashioned disbelief cross Jim’s face.

“You…ah…you never mentioned a sister. _Naomi_ never mentioned a sister.”

And he realised, he really didn’t want to get into this. Not here. Maybe not anywhere. “Can we just keep looking?”

Jim frowned.

“Now…take a deep breath.”

Jim stepped around him, stood in front of him. “Sandburg?”

Blair sighed. “It’s…a long story.”

“I’m only using my nose here, Chief.” Jim replied. He smiled. “Been a while since I heard a good story. Besides, your yapping might keep me from zoning.”

\---

**12th July 1985**

**Western India** **, Mumbai (** **Bombay** **)**

It was dark when the train finally reached its destination. Naomi wobbled at his side, pulling her heavy backpack behind her. She hadn’t been able to lift it onto her shoulders. Blair’s own pack bulged with items he’d sneaked across into his while his mother had slept and the weight dug painfully into his shoulders. He followed a couple of paces behind her, body aching, tired and sleepy and over burdened, and trying to ‘be a man’ like his uncle had told him to be.

In front of him, Naomi stumbled and fell. Her long red hair splayed out in the dust.

She didn’t get up.

“Mom!”

He rushed over to her, fell to his knees and pulled her awkwardly into his arms. Her skin was on fire, slick with sweat. He looked up, strange faces pausing to stare at them. His stupid, useless English words jammed hard in his throat. Around him, the world suddenly became huge and empty.

Someone knelt at his side, rapid Hindu voices surrounded him. Blair felt panic tighten his chest as his complete helplessness crashed in on him. He could do nothing. Nothing. Tears blurred his vision as the world turned surreal, full of noise and breaths of air that had the sole holding in his reality. Hands pulled him into an embrace and stroked at his hair. The mass of bodies around his mother shielded her from his view and a face suddenly filled his vision. It was the man from the train.

“In-glish?” He asked.

Blair nodded frantically. “Mom! My mom…please help her, she’s…” and the embracer held him tighter as the words choked out. He felt silks beneath his cheek and looked up into the face of the elderly woman from the train. She smelt of spices and incense. Her hands brushed his forehead and she tutted.

The girl from the train came to stand beside her grandmother and peered at Blair. She asked the woman a question. Blair caught the word ‘home’ in her answer. Then the hands ushered him aside and he caught a brief glimpse of his mother being lifted out of the dust, her distinctive red hair hanging loose.

“Mommy?” He asked, hating the tremor in voice.

The woman smiled and spoke soft words in reply. Blair watched his mother being carried until her rescuer disappeared with her behind the crowds and he struggled against the hold to see her again, crying out at the separation. The elderly woman held him firm as she walked, stronger than she looked and eventually his fighting died down. He didn’t really remember the car journey, just snatches here and there – the terrible fear, the bustle of Mumbai outside and the aches of his own developing fever creeping in on him.

\---

Blair awoke in a strange house, sweaty and hot and shivery cold. The elderly woman was sitting at his bedside, humming. She spoke to him softly in her own tongue. With dry lips, he asked for Naomi, pleaded to see her, but for all her kindness the old woman didn’t understand him. He wasn’t sure he understood himself, his tongue tacky and dry, muddling the words.

Giving up, finally, he hit the pillow in frustration until his limbs ached from renewed fever, falling still in the bed. The old woman regarded him sadly and patted his sweaty forehead with a cool, damp cloth. “ _Meri_ _ smajhich nahi aanda_.” She told him gently. He pulled his head away but the woman persisted. She stayed with him until he fell asleep.

Sita woke him some time later, when the world had tilted back to rights again and he felt simply tired and weak rather than muddled and feverish. He recognised the girl from the train. “ _Mera_ _ naa haga Sita_,” she said and the phrase pulled itself reluctantly out of Blair’s brain, half remembered from the travel logs he’d read before they’d left for this trip. _My name is Sita_.

Blair smiled and felt his eyes grow heavy again. Before sleep claimed him, he heard his own voice murmur back. “ _Mera_ _ naa haga Blair…”_

_\---_

When he awoke again, the room was bright with sunlight. Sita was again at his bedside. She smiled as he struggled to sit up.

“Hi…um _… Sat sri akaal_.”

With a grin, Sita repeated the welcome back to him.

“Where’s…where’s my mom?” He could see his words were useless. “Naomi?” He cleared his throat and tried to sound it out. “Na-oh-me?”

The girl looked blankly at him and held out paper and pens. Swearing, afraid for his mother, Blair struggled to get out of bed. Sita yelped and hurried backwards.

“Chill, OK? I just gotta go find my m-woah!” His legs wobbled beneath him and he toppled back onto the bed. He felt hot tears well up. “SHIT!”

Sita watched him, interested in the emotions rather than frightened or disturbed by them. She sat down beside Blair and once again held out the paper and pens. After a few moments Blair realised what she was asking. It had been a long time since he’d drawn for the fun of it. Reluctantly, he reached out and took a pen.

Sita smiled and spread the paper between them. They drew together until the rich smells of carefully cooked food preceded Sita’s father into the room.

Blair looked up at the man who carefully placed a tray of food in front of Blair.

Blair looked up at him and he asked desperately, “is my mom OK? Please…” He grasped for another phrase, something – anything – to convey his plea, but please, he remembered dimly, was please for them too. “Mother.” He patted his heart. “Naomi? She was sick…Sick? Yes? Is she OK?”

Cautious understanding dawned on the man’s face and he nodded. “O…K.” He said.

The relief was as sharp as the worry and Blair brushed away the immediate tears that coursed down his cheeks. “I wanna see her.” But he could see they didn’t understand and he knew he wasn’t strong enough to go looking. He pointed out the door. “Take me? I need to see my mom. Out. Yes?” He could hear his own desperation, breathless and unashamed. “See Naomi?”

But the man looked confused, regretful.

Blair sniffed back more tears and hid his face.

The man knelt in front of him, bending to catch Blair’s eyes. He pointed at Blair. “Blair?”

Blair nodded.

Then the man pointed at himself. “Tariq.”

Blair nodded again.

Tariq picked up the spoon and held it out to Blair. After a moment, Blair took it.

\---

Several days passed before Blair saw his mother again, how many he wasn’t sure, muddled from his own fever. He remembered the nights though, where he cried into his pillow, clutching the stuffed giraffe his mother had packed despite his protests, afraid she was gone, afraid that she had died and his protectors or captors or whoever they were didn’t have the words to tell him.

When he was strong enough, Tariq took him out of his room and into the next. Naomi lay on the bed, thin and pale. She smiled weakly and put out her arms. He burrowed into them and swallowed back immediate tears. She had been so near…if only he’d known.

She soothed him, gave him so many kisses, holding on so tight, and for the first time he wondered if she had been as scared as he had. Brave, strong Naomi…frightened. It was almost more than he could comprehend.

When she spoke, her voice was a whisper.

After that, he saw her every day, a few minutes at first, but longer afterwards. Naomi recovered slowly. He didn’t know what she had suffered from but he’d known, even back then that he’d come as close to being an orphan as he wanted to get. Sita’s father, Tariq, spoke only very broken English, but the families’ kindness went beyond words and he knew he was safe. He knew they were Kshatriya, but didn’t understand the full significance of that until he was older.

During the weeks of his and his mother’s recovery, Sita was his constant companion, forging a friendship where no language barrier existed. With the ease of children, she quickly learned a few English words and he several Punjabi and somehow, between that, they understood each other. Under the protection of her father, they explored the Kanheri Caves of Sanjoy Gandhii, the Pherozeshah Mehta Gardens and at temple of Walkeshwar, the Sand Lord; they played at being Rama and Sita.

\---

Jim’s eyes opened. “Sita?”

Blair smiled a little. “Yeah…”

\---

**Late July 1985**

**Western India** **, Mumbai (** **Bombay** **)**

Blair never understood the rules of the game Sita introduced him to, and didn’t even to this day, know what it was called but he played anyway, accepting her prompts of ‘you won’ or ‘you’re out’ with humour. That day was unbearably hot, sweaty curls sticking to forehead and neck, clothes like sandpaper against baking skin. They began the game, chasing back and forth. Under the shade of a _laburnum_ tree, Naomi and  Tariq sat watching, talking softly to one another. The kindly man, like so many, seemed utterly helpless against that gentle mix of sweetness, innocence and spirit that his mother exuded from every pore.

The game took them down to the _bets,_ the coarse grasses at the ends of the property. Blair loved the wildness down here, the sense of freedom so different from the cramped blandness of LA. He often slipped out at night, creeping softly to avoid waking the house, to wander slowly along, breathing in the scents and sounds of nature, hands out, palms up, to give thanks to the Heavens, shining so brilliantly overhead.

Blair never knew what alerted him. There was no sound, no warning, just the sudden jangle across his nerves and he knew almost before he saw the creature basking in the sun that there was danger ahead. He grabbed Sita, pulling her back violently, almost toppling them both in his haste.

The cobra jerked forward, fangs bared and spitting venom. The girl screamed as the lunging serpent bit out at the empty air where not a heartbeat ago she had stood. Blair pushed her ahead of him, panicked at the thought she might have been splashed by the venom, yelling for his mother and Tariq.

Tariq was already racing towards them. Naomi was close behind, pale and breathless, but determined to reach her son.

Tariq swept his daughter into his arms, clutching her, muttering soft words of thanks. Naomi smothered him in kisses and hugs, checking everywhere she could for any injury.

“I’m OK, ma.” He told her.

She tangled one hand in his thatch of curls. “I’m so proud of you.” She told him. “You saved her life, sweetie.”

Back under the blessed shade of the _laburnum_ tree,  Tariq put his child down and turned to her saviour. He laid a hand against Blair’s cheek and said, “ _shukriya_.” _Thank you_ With his other, he laid Sita’s small hand in Blair’s. “ _Muh_ _ boli behen_.” He murmured.

Sita’s eyes widened and squeezed his hand.

\---

**August 1985**

**Western India** **, Mumbai (** **Bombay** **)**

With classes that could no longer be delayed now that Naomi was fit to travel, she and Blair gathered their things and prepared to say goodbye to the family that had sheltered them. Sita watched Blair pack with sad eyes, sitting on the edge of his bed repeating one of the English words she’d learned. “Stay.”

Blair sat beside her. “I wish I could.” He said, unsure of the truth in that. He both wanted to stay, and go home and to Rainer to begin his life.

She followed him out of the bedroom, standing at his side as he took his last look. They joined Naomi and Sita’s father, who were saying their own goodbyes. Realising that no matter how much she pleaded they were going anyway, Sita began to cry. Her father took her aside and whispered softly to her. After a few moments, her tears dried to sniffles and a tiny smile lit her face. She looked around at Blair before racing off.

Blair frowned and asked her grandmother where she had gone. The old woman chuckled and replied but the only word he understood was “bath” and that was said with a knowing smile.

When he and Naomi finally had everything packed into their large rucksacks, Sita appeared; finely dressed in the most beautiful sari Blair had ever seen. She stood tall and poised, almost grown. She took Blair’s hand and led into the main living area and pressed him into a chair. Tariq smiled knowingly and took Naomi’s hand to watch.

Sita began dancing. Blair recognised the arti from his books and felt a thrill run through him.

Her grandmother watched, nodding silent approval. Her father smiled and laid an arm around Naomi. Blair watched as she went through the motions of the arti. When she finished, she came forward and took his hand, pulling it out. “ _Suraj_ _ shakhan chhodian, Mooli chhodia beej, Behen ne rakhi bandhi, Bhai tu chir jug je._" She then took a thin thread of woven peach and gold silks with a silver feather and tied it to his wrist. She smiled at him, “ _Yena_ _ baddho Balee raajaa daanavendro mahaabalah tena twaam anubadhnaami rakshe maa chala maa chala." _

Then she marked his forehead with kumkum powder.

Blair couldn’t stop his hand from going up to touch the dot. “A Tilak?” He asked.

Sita just smiled proudly and offered him some home made sweets.

\---

“We didn’t do Hindu at Cascade High, Chief.”

“It’s Punjabi.” Blair corrected hollowly. Then he swallowed, words coming heavily to his tightened throat. "The sun radiates its sunlight,” he translated, “the radish spreads its seeds, I tie the rakhi to you O brother and wish that may you live long." He drew breath, remembering that moment as if it were yesterday. “I tie you the rakhi that was tied to king Bali, the king of Demons, O Rakhi I pray that you never falter in protecting your devotee.”

\---

**August 1985**

**Western India** **, Mumbai (** **Bombay** **)**

He stared at the Rakhi; the polished surface of the feather caught the light. “Raksha Bandhan.” He realised. Blair had read about the celebration, but never in his wildest dreams had he ever thought he’d be part of one. Naomi wiped tears from her eyes.

Smiling Blair remembered how the brother’s were supposed to respond and went to his backpack. He took out the old stuffed giraffe he’d had since he was a child and handed it over. Sita had shown a fondness for it and after several years of neglect, it was in need of someone to give it loving cuddles again. Her smile was electric. She took his hand and uttered a carefully learnt word in heavily accented English. “Bro..ther…”

\---

Jim waited, studying the tension on Blair’s face. The situation wasn’t humorous anymore, this wasn’t a token carelessly lost, but a treasure given in the purest love. Jim felt a kick across his nerves, adrenaline and his senses sharpened to razor clarity. He could scent every molecule in the warehouse.

There.

He tilted his head, catching the faint tang of Blair that echoed from behind him instead of in front where the man himself stood, lost in memories. Jim turned and scanned the ground.

Something glittered. He homed in and scooped up the thin strap.

The rakhi lay in his palm, small and precious. He cradled it in his palm with all the respect it deserved. “Chief?”

Blair came to his side and took it back reverently. “Thanks, man.” His murmur was soft, sincere.

Jim cleared his throat, unsure of the taint of emotion. “C’mon, chief, we’ve wasted enough time.”

Blair stayed where his was.

At the door, Jim turned. “What happened to her?”

Blair’s fingers tightened on the rahki. “I never saw her again…”

**Author's Note:**

> Raksha Bandhan is a real Hindu festival celebrating the bonds between siblings held on the full moon day in the sharvan month (this usually falls in August) Girls without brothers can chose a close male to be a “rakhi-brother” and thus gain their protection. You can learn more about this wonderful custom at Raksha-Bandhan dot com.
> 
> Glossary -
> 
> Muh boli behen - a sister in every respect except biologically
> 
> Meri smajhich nahi aanda – I don’t understand
> 
> Sat sri akaal - Hello
> 
> Mera naa haga… - My name is…
> 
> Shukriya – Thank you


End file.
